


Because the Wine is Gone

by LadyGaGalion



Series: The Dorwinion Wine Debacle [1]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Comeplay, Dirty Talk, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-12
Updated: 2015-11-12
Packaged: 2018-05-01 07:47:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5197967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyGaGalion/pseuds/LadyGaGalion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thranduil has only two questions for Galion: How did the prisoners escape, and why is the wine gone?</p><p>*Yes, this fic was posted before in various incarnations.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Because the Wine is Gone

"Tell me, Galion, how did the prisoners manage to escape?" 

King Thranduil poses the question calmly from the throne, as if we were discussing the fair weather or his newest pair of boots. I've been anticipating this moment for hours, eager to get it over with, but now that it is here I find myself wishing he had not summoned me quite so soon—or at all.

"My lord, it seems there was also a hobbit amongst the—"

"I am aware that the dwarves had the aid of a hobbit. What I wish to know is how he managed to get them out of their cells, into the barrels, and past the water gate."

"Well, the captain and I, we—" He knows all of this, I am sure. He was told the short version of the story as soon as the alarm was raised. Given my history, he has no doubt already filled in the details for himself. "I invited him to drink with me and we fell into a rather deep slumber, thus giving the hobbit the opportunity to—"

"How much did you drink? It is unheard of for a mere goblet of wine to put an elf into a 'rather deep slumber.'"

I see there will be no glossing over anything this time. "We got a bit carried away—a flagon each—and it was an unusually heady wine."

"From the gardens of Dorwinion, perhaps?"

"… Aye."

He leans back with a thoughtful expression. "I could benefit from that right now. Bring me a flagon."

My stomach plummets. And here I thought things could not get any worse. "Actually, my lord—that particular wine is gone."

" _Gone_? The two of you could not possibly have drained an entire cask in one sitting. Did you drop it into the water along with the dwarves?"

"I-I may have sampled it previously, my lord. On several occasions."

I expect an outburst of rage. Instead he observes me for a long while, thinking Eru knows what behind those bright green eyes, and then declares, "I ought to drag you down to one of the cells and console myself by pretending I have at least one prisoner left."

Something stirs low in my belly at his words, and I feel my face go red. Only I would have the nerve to think about being ravished by the king at a time like this. But the fire in his gaze makes me wonder if there's a chance I might have interpreted the statement correctly, after all.

I look down at my feet, willing my voice to remain steady. "If it would please you, my lord…"

"No, it would not. What would please me is to have thirteen dwarf prisoners and a goblet of my finest wine—and a butler who is not a drunkard, a liar, and a thief!"

 _Drunkard. Liar. Thief_. Each word cuts deeper than the last. I want to assure him of the fact that I've never lied to him, but it would seem trivial now in light of everything else, so I hold my tongue.

"I will place an order for more of that particular Dorwinion vintage right away, my lord." I swallow hard, realizing that now would be an opportune moment for him to inform me that I'm being relieved of my duties. "In the meantime, there are other, quite exquisite wines in the cellars. I can—"

"Do you enjoy partaking of that which is mine, Galion?"

"My lord, I am truly—" 

"I am not asking for an apology," he says impatiently. "You have gone above and beyond your duty of familiarizing yourself with the wines meant to be served at my table. Is there anything else you would like to try?"

The way he lowers his voice and uncrosses his legs whilst repeating the question sends a shiver up my spine, but surely I am letting my imagination run wild again.

"I am afraid I do not know what you mean, my lord." 

"My cock, perhaps?" 

There's a sudden rush of blood in my ears; I cannot have heard what I think I did. (Although I've wondered about the curious lack of guards in the hall upon my arrival.) 

"Y-your—?"

"My cock, Galion. Do you want to taste it?" 

I'm not sure what the correct answer to that question is, or if there even is a correct answer. My sudden elation is mixed with dread, for I doubt this is going to go the way it is playing out in my mind. 

"It is an honor to serve you in whatever way I can, my lord. If you wish for me to—"

"I am asking if _you_ wish it."

"… I do."

He tilts his head, considering me for a moment. "Ask me."

My pulse races as the command echoes in my head. I can't believe this is really happening. We stare at each other for a moment as I try to find my voice. When I do it comes out raspy and weak. "May I taste it, my lord?"

"Am I holding a sword to your throat, Galion? Ask me in a way that shows me how much you want it."

He is holding a sword to my throat, in a way. I have desired him from the moment I first saw him, shortly after I'd begun working for his father. We were young then, and he was a different elf. His eyes always twinkled with mischief, and I was the perpetual victim of his pranks. Later I drowned my sorrows in wine when he married, and again when I could do naught to ease the pain of his loss. And now he wants me to show him how much I want it, when I know he is more likely to send me out of his sight forever than he is to give me what I desire. It is indeed a blade cutting into my neck, cold and sharp…and exciting nonetheless.

"Please, my lord, use my mouth for your pleasure. Let me—let me taste your release." My words make me cringe, but there is a reason I am a butler and not a bard. 

His lips quirk ever so slightly. "'My lord?' Is that what you called my father when he took you against my most beloved oak?"

I nearly choke on my own spit. 

No, that isn't what I called his father then. And I didn't call him 'Oropher,' either. King Oropher had been surprisingly perceptive and offered to help me live out my fantasies as long as I kept my feelings buried deep the remainder of the time.

My face begins to burn again. He knows. He has known all along. 

Somehow this is even worse than being called a drunkard, a liar, and a thief. I wish the ground would open up and swallow me whole. 

"And I do not recall you using such horridly proper and poetic language," he adds. "Try again."

I take in a shaky breath. 

"Let me suck your cock, _Thranduil_." To my credit I manage to hold his gaze as I speak. "I want to feel your hands tighten in my hair as you fuck my mouth… I want to know what you sound like when you come. I want…"

I trail off, overcome by his beauty as his eyes flutter closed. Ai Elbereth, I am so hard. 

A slight smile forms on his lips. "A servant with such a fine appreciation for the pleasures of all the senses—a rare thing indeed." He spreads his legs a little more and opens his eyes just in time to catch me glancing at the slight bulge this change in position has revealed. "Would you rather I came in your mouth, flooding it with my seed in hot spurts—or down your throat, holding your head hard against me, so you would not miss a single drop?"

The king's words come alive in my mind's eye: his dick pulsing in my mouth as I swallow his come, salty and warm; his hand on the back of my head, holding me in place even as I choke on his length; my arm curled around his leg, fingers digging into the back of his thigh because I'm so aroused… My cock twitches, straining against my breeches, and that alone is almost enough to send me over the edge, untouched, right in front of him. 

"Both ways sound equally appealing, my lord."

He smirks. "Are you saying you would have me come twice?"

I feel my blush deepen. I'm reminded of a morning a few years ago, when Lord Elrond's sons had recently arrived from Imladris. I entered the king's bedchamber in the morning to help him get ready for the day ahead, and came to a halt. The air was thick with the smell of sex. He was alone by then, but the sheets were rumpled and stained to the point of suggesting that everyone had had at least two turns. Seeing this, I could not speak without stammering, and my eyes were repeatedly drawn to the bed. He gave me the rest of the day off to clear my head. There was an inexplicable shortage of wine in the cellars within a fortnight. 

"How many times _can_ you come, Thranduil?"

Ai, but I am enjoying this too much. The king is merely toying with me, perhaps engaging in one last bit of mischief, for old time's sake, before he delivers the final blow. Nevertheless, even if this exchange is ultimately meant to embarrass and humiliate me, it is the most euphoric experience I have ever had. I might as well make the most of it.

"It is rather unfortunate that you have such a love of drink, Galion, for there are other ways I could enjoy you as well," he says in a voice clear as water and smooth as silk; it caresses me from the inside out. 

"What ways?"

"I might decide to take you down to the dungeons and have you play prisoner, after all. Or I could fuck you right here—after I have bent you over my lap and spanked you with my bare hand until your skin turned bright red." I bite down on my lip and clench my hands at my sides in an attempt to suppress the shivers running through me. "Would you ride me, here on the throne? I might be forced to shove my fingers in your mouth to keep you silent, but—"

It's too much. I manage to keep my climax down to a quiet whimper, but he notices anyway and sits, grinning, watching as I struggle to keep standing straight. To think that of all the things he just said, it would be the mention of his fingers in my mouth that would undo me… Well, I shouldn't be surprised. The sight of his hands has always thrilled me.

My apprehension returns when he rises from his seat and descends the steps leading from the throne to the dais below. I brace myself for whatever is coming, keenly aware of the warm, sticky mess in my breeches. 

"Your secret trysts with my father were interesting to spy upon," he says, "but I am yet a more generous and inventive lover than his interpretation may have led you to imagine." He stops in front of me. I swallow hard and hold my breath as he lifts the hem of my tunic and dips a hand beneath the waistband of my breeches. It comes out covered in glistening streaks of come, and he licks the tip of his middle finger, pink tongue darting out from in between his lips to taste my seed. Then he turns and walks away. 

"As you might learn if you reconsider your values and begin applying yourself to your duties with renewed dedication!"

  



End file.
